Before It Ends
by SeptimaDesu
Summary: Corvo intends to spend his evening before taking on the Lord Regent alone, but when he finds an unexpected guest in his room, his plans are altered. Nothing is ever quite as straightforward as he hopes. Features Corvo Attano and Teague Martin.


Warnings- Explicit sex between males including anal, oral, and finger play. Corvo is not Emily's biological father in this fic.

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Corvo had just finished his visit with Emily and quietly made his way upstairs to the attic where he was being stored. He understood he was being kept there in the interest of his privacy and peace and quiet, of course, and it was no accident that there was a bridge between the attic window and Emily's tower. Still, somewhere in the back of his mind he felt like he was being stowed away when he slept, like a tool that was kept on its proper shelf outside of use so it wouldn't be in the way of other activities.

It was pleasant to arrive to the sight of the odd note or gift, though. Lord Pendleton's note regarding his brothers, and the gift of a rune that he suspected was from the remaining Boyles, as well as Emily's drawing of him. It made him feel oddly warm and pleasant that she'd labeled the drawing "Daddy". He certainly had played something of a fatherly role in her life, even if he wasn't her birth father as many suspected he was. Regardless, he wouldn't mind at all if Emily wanted to think of him as her father, even if she only ever called him "Corvo".

He stopped by her room in the tower to say goodnight. She was already going to sleep, with Callista sitting by in case she needed consoling. She seemed relieved by Corvo's arrival. She claimed that Emily slept more calmly if he came by, so every night before he left for the city he stopped to see Emily. He could barely stand the pain he'd felt in his chest the night he'd come in to find her already asleep, tossing and turning and begging to be left with a candle in a dark place. Saying she wanted to see her mother. Corvo could only hope that somehow, his dealing with the men who had conspired against the Empress would make up for his failure.

It also made him mildly uncomfortable that the only solutions the loyalists could come up with were murder. In a world that was so reliant on social factions and castes, surely there were more creative ways to remove their enemies from power. Corvo had already proven that there was, and with little difficulty. His allies certainly seemed impressed, but it hadn't changed their ultimatums overmuch.

Corvo chose to take some time to bathe. It was the latter part of the evening, and anyone who wasn't in bed was in the bar drinking. That meant the bathroom was free, and the house was quiet, meaning he wouldn't have to be on high alert anytime he heard noises from people moving around the property. The result was the first opportunity he'd had to relax in solitude (conscious) since his arrest six months previous. He chose to soak in the tub for a good half hour after scrubbing his hair and skin clean, and then dried himself before dressing. He carried his cloak and leather vest, as well as his various straps and belts, over his arm as he quietly returned to the attic wearing only his pale undershirt and dark pants.

It had become habit long before his change in vocation to walk silently. His soft leather boots were silent against the wood as he entered his bedroom, which is perhaps why he was more immediately shocked than the unexpected visitor who was sitting on his mattress.

At first, he simply stared at Martin, wondering if he should find somewhere to hide and observe, or approach him. Then he overcame his first instinct of assessing the situation and walked audibly into the room. After all, Martin was an ally. There was no need to sneak around him. The past few days had changed Corvo's outlook, it seemed.

Martin jumped at the sound of his boots against the floor, and his head turned quickly toward him. The light in the room was low, since the only source was a kerosene lamp on a makeshift bedside table, but Corvo was accustomed to such situations. There was enough for him to see that Martin's face was slightly sunken, and that he was holding a glass from the bar in one hand.

"Corvo," he greeted as Corvo nodded to him, walking toward an old armchair that was off to one side of the room. He neatly folded and set his discarded clothing on the seat as Martin continued. "I apologize if I'm intruding, but I figured it would be better to wait for you here than interrupt your bath."

Corvo turned to face Martin when he was finished tidying his clothes, and they stared at one another. Martin was obviously tipsy at the least, and Corvo wasn't sure if he should just ask him immediately to leave so he could use his bed, or if he should be "civil" and wait for the social engagement to run its course. After all, Martin wouldn't be lurking in his room for no reason. Corvo leaned against the wooden beam that was a few feet in front of the bed, crossing his arms and legs as he waited for Martin to say his piece.

Martin seemed slightly put off by his silence, as many people often were, but Corvo hadn't been trained to manipulate social engagements. He'd always been a soldier—a black op, to boot—and it was most pertinent for him to hear all and say nothing. At this point, he hardly knew what to say anyway.

"I suppose...well, I've been thinking about the past few days. Everything that's been happening," Martin began, swirling what was left of his dark red drink, "And I guess I realized that tomorrow, it'll all be different. The Lord Regent will be gone, Emily will be on the throne. In a way, you've single-handedly changed the course of the government, and the city."

Corvo listened, feeling as if Martin was beating around the bush somehow. He'd always come off as a clever, but arrogant man, and not one to dance around a topic unless he was pulling strings. Corvo wasn't one to be jerked around, but being a stealth artist had taught him patience if nothing else.

"You've done quite a lot, Corvo, and I don't think I've expressed enough gratitude for that," he continued. Corvo blinked at him, surprised by the admission and observing the odd look in Martin's eyes. What was it? He might say remorse, if it made any sense. "I wanted to say something before...well, before everything ends tomorrow."

"Ends?" Corvo repeated, finding that the term didn't fit the situation in his mind. Were they talking about the same thing? "When Burrows is gone, everything can begin."

Martin was quiet and had returned to staring at his drink. Corvo waited for him to speak, and when he didn't, he started approaching his bed in the hopes that he could give Martin the hint that he wanted to go to sleep. Martin didn't move, so Corvo sat beside him and started unlacing his boots to give it a little more time. He wasn't quite comfortable with the proximity. It was a learned response, he knew, but on top of that Martin put him off as far as his personality was concerned.

When his boots were off, he decided enough was enough. He wasn't about to disrobe any further—he never did, given the lack of privacy in the pub—and Martin was still taking up a good half of his mattress.

"Martin-"

"Corvo, you can call me Teague," he gave Corvo a look that seemed almost amused, in his condescending way. Corvo assumed his mannerisms were due to the fact that he was young and knew he was brilliant. At least he wasn't usually openly offensive.

He chose not to comment on the name issue. He filed it away as information, but he preferred to avoid the implications of correcting himself with one or the other. He met Martin's eyes silently. They both knew that if Martin didn't say anything now, he was going to be kicked out of the room, and Corvo assumed he'd be speaking shortly.

"The fact is, none of us have the abilities you do. All of us put together couldn't have achieved in months what you did in a few days. You really are incredible."

Corvo started putting together puzzle pieces. The way Martin looked at everything but him was a telltale sign that he was either unsure of himself, or lying badly. He seemed far too intelligent to lie badly by accident, so Corvo assumed the former was the case. Martin stood and paced slowly along the floor to the side of the bed near the open door. Corvo felt as if his footsteps were horribly loud against the old, creaking, splintered wood, but his ears were more attuned than most.

"I don't mean to make a bother of myself," Martin stated apologetically. It was quite out of character for him. It appeared as if he took Corvo's silence for disapproval. One didn't indicate the other, but Corvo was certainly silent, and for the moment, definitely disapproved. He felt as if his intelligence was being somehow insulted. He was accustomed to that kind of thing; a quiet nature was often mistaken for stupidity. "But I figured, what with the deed you're setting off to do tomorrow, this is probably my last chance..."

Last chance? Why? And for what? Corvo met Martin's eyes, staring into them so intently that he was unable to avert his gaze at last. He searched the other man for some explanation, and he could see in his face that he knew.

"To be straight to the point," hopefully Martin was finished with his games. His hand was on the doorknob. "I would like to spend the night here."

Corvo stared at him in disbelief. That was the last thing he'd expected. He'd been anticipating that Martin was trying to ask him a favor or deliver some bad news, not asking him..._that. _He hadn't had the slightest inkling that Martin was—well, interested in men for starters, much less him.

"...Why?" Was the only word he managed. It was the only one necessary, really. He wasn't about to agree to that request as if there was nothing to it. He almost protested when Martin closed the door quietly.

"Several reasons," he began, setting his still not empty glass on the desk where Emily had left her drawing. Corvo saw his eyes flash toward the sketch briefly. "Not least of which is the fact that you're really...quite easy on the eyes, if I may say."

Corvo's demeanor faltered slightly; his eyes darted away from Martin's for the shortest fraction of a second, and he inclined his head at the unexpected (and almost uncomfortable) flattery. He wasn't exactly unaccustomed to having people flirt with him after being Lord Protector for so long, and it wasn't even unusual for men to ask after his _company. _But Martin differed from those incidents in that he was younger by several years—he couldn't be older than twenty—and he seemed to have some grasp on his sense of shame.

"That, and I know that opportunity might be limited in the future," Martin continued, muttering. Corvo again found his words very strange. Surely, when he was Emily's protector and _High Overseer Martin _was no longer cleaning up his predecessor's mess, he'd have plenty of "opportunity". Assuming Corvo was interested, which he was still deciding.

"This is sudden, I understand," Corvo turned his attention back to Martin, who was still standing at the foot of the bed, "But the circumstances made me choose this moment to say something."

"I...didn't think you had feelings for me," Corvo gave Martin an uneven look. Martin seemed surprised.

"Not in the way of a lover, if that's what you mean," he replied. Corvo avoided openly scoffing. Of course Martin was only after a one-night stand. It certainly made more sense, and it sat better with Corvo than wondering if he'd somehow mistakenly reciprocated affection. He certainly hadn't detected any to begin with.

Still, the idea of being intimate with Martin was highly strange. There were men Corvo could entertain the idea of bedding, and Martin was hardly first on the list. He didn't seem to have enough alpha in him to get Corvo's compliance, nor enough omega to give himself up. That, on top of the fact that sex had been the last thing on his mind since the empress died, made the whole situation odd.

He didn't protest, though, when Martin came to sit by him again. Corvo wondered how far ahead he'd planned this. He wasn't wearing his Overseer's coat, and was instead sporting just a white blouse (with the sleeves unbuttoned and pushed up to his elbows) and his pants. He was still wearing boots, so at least he wasn't jumping _too _far ahead of himself.

"I'm not sure if you agree or not," he stated as Corvo observed him, "You're so reticent, Corvo. I fully admit that it adds to your allure, but it's confounding."

Allure? Corvo raised an eyebrow at Martin, who seemed to interpret his expression.

"Why so confused? I'm sure others have brought it to your attention," he stated, his tone obviously flirtatious. Corvo didn't protest. Worst case, he would grow tired of the flattery and ask Martin to leave. Best case...they both could have a good night. But he was still working to get his thoughts on track with that idea. "After all, you're foreign—as pale as I am, of course, but your skin is so much...smoother. Less mottled with pink and red splotches, but not as cold and stony as a Tyvian."

Corvo disagreed with that assessment. Sokolov's visage certainly wasn't "cold and stony", at least not as far as his skin was concerned, but people of the Isles had their own ideas. He'd learned that very quickly.

"Moreover, your hair is dark as night...it makes a stark contrast. It's very striking," Martin continued, boldly reaching out for Corvo's dark locks, which were still a bit damp. He tucked the hair behind his ear, and somehow in the interim of doing so he'd managed to move closer. He was good.

"I'm flattered."

"Already? You're more easily impressed than I expected. I was only just getting started," Martin smiled, but the expression was more sultry than his usual cocky smirk. Corvo could smell the wine on his breath, his face was so close; at some point he'd turned himself so he was tilted with his back more toward the head of the bed, and Martin took full advantage by leaning toward him. Perhaps it was more forward than would be considered proper, but Corvo had a limited threshold for bullshit. There was no need to while away time being subjected to useless (if glowing) compliments.

He didn't immediately reciprocate when Martin pressed their lips together. One of his hands was on the back of Corvo's neck, as if to stop him from escaping. It was sneaky, but dominant. Corvo let Martin guide him, choosing to see how the situation would play out rather than claim leadership due to his seniority. Not that he was a decade older, of course, but he was seven years Martin's senior and most likely more experienced and mature. It showed even in the way Martin kissed; it was tender, but still urgent and greedy.

Corvo lay down when he felt Martin's weight pressing into him. To his surprise, Martin moved his legs, straightening him on the bed and exposing him. Corvo felt heat rise to his face at the realization that Martin was situated between his splayed legs, an obvious indication of his intentions, but he said nothing. He didn't need to have a battle for "power" in this scenario, and unless Martin's performance thereafter was exponentially worse than his good start, Corvo planned to acquiesce.

He felt Martin's hand on the side of his head, fingers sliding into his hair, but before he could open his eyes their lips met again. This time he returned in kind, trying to get more from the contact than before. There wasn't much need for consideration, since it was only a fling for pleasure, and he was the one who would be...receiving. Assuming that was Martin's ultimate intention.

Corvo sighed quietly when Martin started to suck on his neck gently, pausing only to work his lips against the delicate, exposed skin of his throat. One of his hands trailed over the front of Corvo's shirt, lingering over the buttons as if he was contemplating removing them. He decided in favor of unfastening them, it seemed, after Corvo pressed upward encouragingly. Despite his initial hesitation, he was getting swept up by the long-absent sensation of being sensual with another person, and thankfully Martin was performing well. And he was clean, which was difficult to manage in normal times, much less in the midst of plague and revolution.

When his shirt was open, his chest exposed, Martin straightened and looked down at him. Corvo felt rather scrutinized, but he accepted it; Martin trailed his fingers slowly downward, over his pectorals and then his abdomen.

"Your body is like an athlete's," he murmured, keeping his voice low as if they were teenagers avoiding detection while they rutted. Corvo supposed it was for the best that they weren't found in such a state, but they were hardly juveniles. "Nothing but muscle, and yet it's so _lean..."_

Corvo accepted what he assumed was intended to be a compliment, closing his eyes again as Martin explored his chest. One advantage he'd heard (while eavesdropping) to having a younger lover was the curiosity, along with the eagerness. He started to understand what was meant by that. Martin touched him with confidence, but interest, as if he was discovering something new and exciting. Something about it was particularly stirring.

Corvo's breath caught every time Martin's fingers brushed over his soft nipples, but the difference was so slight that it was unnoticeable. More noticeable was how he arched his back when Martin's fingers slipped under the waistband of his pants. At first, he intentionally teased, letting his fingertips grace the very top of his groin; then he pulled Corvo's pants down his hips entirely. Corvo exhaled a sigh of relief as Martin removed the slacks, mainly because his erection was no longer restrained.

He looked up at Martin, who was staring at his lower body, and particularly his cock. He looked so bewildered by it that Corvo was somewhat confused—he certainly didn't _act _like someone who hadn't been confronted with another man's erection before. Fortunately, he recovered quickly enough, and started to stroke it slowly. Corvo tried to control his breathing, but despite his attempt, he released shuddering sighs, and his toes curled.

"I guess it's been a while for you," Martin noted quietly. He almost sounded sympathetic. Corvo hummed in response. There hadn't been much opportunity (or desire) while he was in solitary confinement for six months, and there had been even less after his escape. He was sensitive as a result—almost embarrassingly so. He couldn't maintain coherent thoughts while Martin was touching him, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. It allowed less room for feeling uncomfortable, a problem he'd often faced with one-night stands. The fact that Martin was obviously unabashed also made things easier.

Corvo exhaled a shuddering breath when Martin's hand slid downward, away from his erection and onto his testicles. He started to fondle the sac, running his fingertips against it quickly but gently, and before long Corvo was pulling at the sheets. Thankfully, he didn't have much trouble keeping his volume under control. The only sounds that escaped him were audible sighs and the occasional, quiet whimper when the sensation overwhelmed him.

His breath caught suddenly, and he stiffened, his eyes snapping open, when he felt Martin's index finger pressing against his anus. He knew that was the end goal, of course, and considering he'd just come out of the washroom (leaving him clean and with little chance of having any _accidents _during), he didn't have any particular complaints. But it wasn't his first pony show, by any means, and he knew very well that they couldn't do anything _dry. _Not with his consent, anyway. Martin seemed to notice his discomfort.

"No need to panic," he said with a slight smirk. Corvo felt as if he'd had a prank played on him. "I came equipped."

He pulled a small bottle from the back pocket of his pants, and Corvo identified the liquid inside as oil. Plant oil, not whale. That was a relief. He didn't particularly want anything glowing and explosive in such a delicate region. He watched Martin dip his finger into the bottle, and when they made eye contact again, Corvo realized he was hesitating, as if he was waiting for some last display of consent. It was a nice courtesy, certainly, but Corvo couldn't imagine what he'd say in a situation like this. Rather than speaking, he drew his knees up, exposing himself further, as a gesture of cooperation.

That seemed to be all Martin needed to be certain. He pressed his oiled finger against the target entrance, and Corvo worked to maintain steady breathing. The finger slipped inside surprisingly easily, at least at first. He realized he was starting to grit his teeth as Martin pushed it further, eventually getting it in to the knuckle. He worked it back and forth, trying to make the muscles around it stretch open.

"You're almost rigid, Corvo...have you never done this before?" Asked Martin, but the incredulous and mildly offended look Corvo shot at him seemed to answer his question. It wasn't as if he'd done it _regularly, _but it was arrogance on Martin's part to assume he'd be so easily convinced into what they were doing if he had no prior experience.

Eventually, his rectal muscles relaxed further, and Martin was able to push in two freshly-oiled fingers. Corvo gasped quietly at the pressure that built up immediately as a result. Fortunately, despite how much his body squeezed around Martin's fingers, it wasn't painful. He started to feel legitimate pleasure when Martin simulated penetration, sliding his fingers in and out at a steadily increasing pace. An odd tingling sensation spread through his chest and groin, and his body heated up as a result of the sensation from so delicate a region.

He exhaled, only then noticing that he'd held his breath, when Martin pulled his fingers out. Then he lay still, panting. He could hear Martin fiddling with his pants, and didn't need to look to know what he was about to do. He caught his breath when he felt the hard, fleshy head of his shaft against his entrance, and exhaled slowly as it pushed into him. Martin seemed to have found a happy medium between determination and patience, and he applied pressure while still waiting for Corvo's body to allow him passage. By the time he'd buried himself, Corvo's breathing was shallow and quick, and Martin was panting for breath. Corvo knew he must be overheated, which would be relieved somewhat if he undressed, but it didn't seem like he intended to do so.

Corvo gripped the sheets as Martin pulled out, overwhelmed by the sensations of pleasure from the friction, and the slowly releasing pressure. He choked off a cry when Martin pushed in again, this time quickly (but just shy of being too hard). He heard Martin chuckle above him and opened his eyes enough to see his face.

"You don't have to be silent for my sake, Corvo," he stated. They both knew he was picking on him in a way, reveling in the pride he got from hearing Corvo respond to his actions, but it was hardly offensive. Corvo knew well enough how stirring it was to be in that position. "I'll find something to gag you, if it helps."

That was a little too far. Corvo scoffed, but Martin made an example of what he meant by "gagging" and bent down to kiss him. He maintained lip contact even while he was steadily rocking his hips, and Corvo didn't have his wits about him enough to remain reticent. One of his hands ended up getting a grip in Martin's short hair, the other running over his back to tug his shirt up. He was determined to find bare flesh; it was only fair, considering the fact that he was naked and vulnerable.

He eventually pulled the buttons on the shirt front out of their holes and explored Martin's chest. His body was firmly toned, thanks to his militant life as an Overseer, but he still had a healthy layer of fat over that muscle. It contrasted Corvo, who had been malnourished after six months in prison, and was left with almost only the lean muscle he'd maintained for years. He ran his fingers over Martin's nipples, which were wider than his own, but not as soft. Martin sighed in response to the touch, and in return he ran his tongue over Corvo's lips. It was unexpected, but highly pleasant. The quiet sounds that escaped him as a result were muffled by Martin's mouth.

Martin broke the kiss and panted heavily as he started to thrust faster and more forcefully, his lips against Corvo's neck as his hands gripped one of his hips and the opposite shoulder. Corvo had to force himself to reduce cries to quiet moans and whimpers when he felt Martin's cock pushing into some deep part of his body, stimulating soft and highly delicate (and virtually untouched) areas. He couldn't breathe at all when the head ran over a particularly tender area, almost painfully because of how hard he pushed to reach that part of him. Martin had changed his angle intentionally to do it, and seemed satisfied with himself when Corvo's eyes rolled back and he started to arch into him.

Corvo didn't resist when Martin got hold of his thighs and lifted them, making him open his legs more. He sat up, escaping Corvo's grip and tracing the muscle in his legs as he continued rutting at a more frantic pace. Corvo felt horribly exposed, but something about that made him more aroused. He could barely withstand the sex quietly as it was, but when Martin continued to strike that particular part of his anatomy, that place that made his vision turn white, while stroking his shaft, he started to cry out.

He felt his cock twitching, and knew he'd finish soon, but he couldn't be sure about Martin. He seemed so level-headed, even with how flustered his actions were, that Corvo couldn't gauge him. But he couldn't keep the other man in mind very long; he got lost in the elation of the sensations that wracked his body, the lightning that shot through his groin, and the wonderful, horrible coiling in the pit of his stomach. He'd turned his head to the side and used one hand to press his small pillow against his mouth, effectively muffling his cries that were ever increasing in volume.

Finally, it all built up into a peak; for just a fraction of a second, he felt an ultimate release, like a great weight lifting away from him as his body constricted, shuddered, and fell limp. Then he started writhing and biting the pillow when Martin continued to thrust into him. When Corvo's eyes rolled toward him, he buried himself and ground his hips against him slowly. It was a mild relief, but with everything still so tender, and his nerve endings piqued, from his orgasm, the feeling still made him tremble.

"I'll have to ask you to hold out a little longer," Martin purred, leaning over him, "I'm not quite finished."

Corvo didn't have time to form a response. Martin pulled out, got hold of his hips, and made him turn over. It was an embarrassing position, but his reservations about being on his hands and knees were relieved somewhat when he felt Martin's chest pressing against his back, one of his hands on his chest as he slowly pushed his cock into Corvo's body again. The sensation was more than he could bear; the new position increased how much he felt. As Martin thrust into him, frantically and forcefully, he couldn't hold himself up any longer and let his face fall into his pillow.

It was for the best; his volume control was gone, and he was practically screaming into the soft fabric, tugging on it as he continued to arch and writhe from the intensity. It was like feeling the moment when he teetered on the peak of orgasm, but it stretched on for several minutes. It was long enough for his erection to return, which Martin evidently noticed—he wrapped his hand around it and stroked it rapidly.

Corvo lifted his head briefly to breathe more easily, and his eyes fell on the mark on his left hand. The thought came to him, fleetingly, that The Outsider might be privy to his current activities. After all, he certainly seemed to see everything else—when he elected to watch. Corvo hoped that, whatever he was, he wasn't the voyeuristic type. Something about thinking that fascinating but horrible creature might see him at this very moment disturbed him.

He couldn't dwell on it for very long, though; Martin was relentless, and it wasn't until his shaft jerked in Corvo's body that he paused, shoving himself in balls-deep and holding Corvo's hips tightly enough to bruise. Then he sighed, rocking his hips to remove what ejaculate might be lingering in his cock, and he pulled out. Corvo collapsed onto the bed, gasping for air. He felt Martin's fingers in his hair, running through the damp locks before he lay down beside him. Corvo was surprised by how close he stayed, as if whatever had made him keep distance before had eased.

"I suppose some part of me forgot you're human like the rest of us," he stated so quietly that Corvo wasn't sure he'd meant to speak out loud. He lay still as Martin's hand drifted over his shoulder to his hip, and then his still-erect penis. Corvo couldn't stop himself from shuddering when he stroked it.

"Did you...?" Martin asked, meeting his eyes. His gaze traveled to the ejaculate that Corvo had spilled on his own chest and stomach. "Only once, right?"

Corvo wasn't sure how to respond to that. Martin obviously had something in mind, though, because he moved downward, resting his hands on Corvo's stomach as his face hovered over his erection. Corvo stared at him in mild disbelief as his breath tickled the tip, but Martin's response was a rather devious smirk. Then he closed his eyes and started to suck, bobbing his head without hesitation. He fell flat on the bed, gasping, and without thinking about it he tangled his fingers in Martin's hair.

It didn't take very long for him to come, not with how hard Martin sucked, and how talented he was about stroking the shaft with his tongue or swirling around the head. He tried to utter a warning, but Martin evidently didn't care. He kept sucking even after he surely tasted cum in his mouth, and Corvo saw the muscles in his throat working as he swallowed. Then he licked away what little ejaculate remained on his stomach, which was even more shocking. When Martin sat up, panting, he gazed down at Corvo. They stared at each other in awkward silence for several seconds.

Martin started buttoning his shirt, and Corvo closed his eyes, sighing. It seemed the evening had come to a close, and he wasn't energetic enough yet to figure out how to clean the sheets. He'd have to get dressed to some degree, too...

"Sorry about the sheets," Martin apologized. Corvo looked at him. "I would stay, but...well, it wouldn't be a desirable situation for the others to find us."

Corvo hummed quietly and closed his eyes again. He appreciated the sentiment, but he hadn't asked for overnight company. He wasn't even sure he trusted Martin enough to sleep beside him. He watched as Martin stood and walked toward the door, picking up his glass on the way. He sat up with some effort and started picking up his shirt, as well as his pants and undergarments. He looked up when he heard the door open and more light entered the area.

"I don't know if I'll have a chance to say so tomorrow," Martin stated, his voice sounding odd. Corvo couldn't see his expression; he was silhouetted by the light from behind him. "But I'd like to let you know...you're a truly incredible man, Corvo. In every way I can imagine. I wish you the best of luck tomorrow."

Corvo didn't have a chance to speak before Martin disappeared, shutting the door behind him. It was probably for the best. He wouldn't have known what to say. It was so unlike the cool, confident, and generally unflappable Teague Martin to behave so...what? Sincerely? Perhaps. But he was drunk, and sex did strange things to people. Moreover, he was young and ambitious, so who really knew what his true personality was like? He would have to find out when Emily was on the throne. He couldn't have a mysterious High Overseer.

He took the clean cloths that had been provided for him from his desk and cleaned himself. The whole area was still very sensitive and tender, but not painfully so. As long as his movement wasn't impeded, he would be fine.

Corvo lay down, letting himself drift into the trance he'd known as sleep for many years. After all, the Lord Protector wasn't worth his station if he slept too deeply to be aware of danger, and Corvo had plenty of danger for which to be alert. He rested, but lightly, and with full awareness of the sounds and scents around him. Questions about Martin, and a strangely ominous feeling due to his words that evening, came and went as he slept; but more than anything, Corvo's thoughts centered on the coming day, and his return to Dunwall Tower. He burned for the opportunity to drive his blade into the Lord Regent's body, but he'd learned that there was always a better possibility. He only hoped that he could make the best decision, when the time came.

* * *

A/N: So I finally wrote this, after obsessing over the idea (almost immediately after finishing the game). To be clear, this story is an AU written around the universe of "Low Chaos" Corvo. I had to change the timeline a little bit to allow for the opportunity I wanted, but hopefully the inaccuracy to lore won't wreck it for anyone. I hope everyone enjoys, and please review if you have any thoughts or opinions about the piece. I'm pretty curious about how it'll be received, honestly.

Songs I Listened to While Writing This:

Honor for All (Dishonored credits theme) – Daniel Licht & Jon Licht


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